Anticipation
by Botosphere
Summary: It's a good day when you find your lost twin brother. It's a really good day when you get to scrap the Decepticons who kept you apart. It's a great day when you get to scrap them together.
1. Sunstreaker

Author's note: Firstly, to my fellow-Christian readers, Merry Christmas! :) Unfortunately, this isn't a Christmas-themed story since I meant to post it more than a month ago, but my muse was uncooperative, so here it is as a Christmas present instead. I'll put up the remaining chapters over the course of the day.

Secondly, many thanks to my Faramir for the plot bunny on this one and to IronRaven for contributing all of Sideswipe's perspective. If the military aspects of this story seem even remotely reasonable, we can thank IR for that, too. :) Hope you enjoy! ~ Eowyn77

* * *

Sunstreaker

Anticipation. I hated it. It twisted and writhed in my spark, an unholy mix of hope and expectation and fear. It felt like three lifetimes that I'd been held here by the 'cons, but it had only been a fraction of one, and I was pretty young yet.

Part of it was the fact that I was little more than a lab experiment for that twisted excuse for a medic, Flatline. That one made even Ratchet look sane – he was obsessed with bonds. Soundwave was frustratingly aware of how effective the femmes were for communication in battle but Megatron had baggage when it came to mates, so Soundwave had Flatline experiment with alternatives, particularly twins. So Flatline had laid a trap specifically for me and Sideswipe and spent vorns satisfying his sadistically curious little spark.

Eventually Sideswipe and I managed a prison break – it was only a matter of time, really. And true to form for _us_, we made it spectacular. It wasn't enough for just the two of us to get out. To _really _blow exhaust in their faces, we took our entire column of prisoners with us. Except I managed to get hit by one of the guard-tower cannons just as I was racing toward the escape shuttle. It knocked me into temporary stasis, and by the time I'd come around, Sideswipe was so long gone that I couldn't even feel him over our bond anymore.

At first Flatline was glitched beyond words he was so mad, but after killing most of the remaining prisoners in the camp, he suffered a sudden bout of optimism. This was just an opportunity for another experiment – this time in bond-sense deprivation. So he obliterated the prison camp from orbit and hauled me off to an outpost in the most middle-of-nowhere space bridge he could find.

He hoped Sideswipe would come for me, and for a while, so did I – not so I could escape, but so that Sideswipe and I could together take out the glitch who had the ball-bearings to experiment on and separate us. Eventually, though, I just wanted to escape. The emptiness on Sideswipe's side of the bond pulled at me and it made me angry – more angry than over the fact that they destroyed my finish, more angry than the pain of torture – but there were precious few opportunities to take it out on anybody.

The other reason I felt like I'd been here since the creation of Cybertron was the fact that the 'cons hated my circuits enough to slice me open and stomp on them. I knew this from experience. That (among other things) was the reception I had all three times I escaped and got recaptured. I tried biding my time, tried waiting for word of other Autobots, for word of Sideswipe, but always the anticipation ate at me like the acid Flatline painted me with until I finally just had to break out and make a run for it. Made it half-way to the next star system before they caught me last time.

The problem was I didn't know where Sideswipe was. After a few vorns of torturing me, the 'cons also accepted that I didn't know. So when I escaped, we all knew that I was just randomly running and it became a game of turbocat and cybermouse – including the gutting when I finally got caught. Did I mention that Flatline was a sadistic little glitch? I didn't really stand a chance of escaping until I had someplace to escape _to_, because as much as I hated to admit it, the thick-chipped cowards who guarded me outnumbered me enough that fighting my way to real freedom wasn't an option.

News of the universe outside wasn't as hard to come by as I had first expected. Drudge, Piston, Pummel, and Frequency were the usual suspects in most of the pranks pulled on Flatline's base, so they were stuck guarding me most of the time. And since they were stupid enough to get caught when they were up to no good (or to get framed for it when they weren't the pranksters), they were also pretty careless as guards. They liked to brag about Decepticon victories and made a point of naming the Autobots who fell in the running battles that were the War now. The only exception to that came a little while after my third escape and recapture. Frequency and Pummel spoke in dark, quiet tones about Megatron's death on some backwater organic planet called Earth. If Megatron was dead, I was sure that Prime had something to do with it, and where Prime was, the Autobots would rally. And if Sideswipe was still free, he'd get his shiny silver aft to Earth as quickly as his thrusters could carry him.

But knowing the planet was called Earth didn't tell me where it actually was. So I rotted in that holding cell for a few deca-orns more, waiting for the Idiot Brigade to let slip a little more intel. One day, I came out of recharge to see Drudge strut right up to the bars of my cell. "Me and my buddies, we're takin' a vote," he announced. "How we gonna kill you."

"Well I've got a while yet," I easily answered. "It'll take you vorns to count the votes among the four of you."

He snorted. "You think you're so smart, pretty boy – "

"Compared to you, Drudge, rocks are smart."

He didn't rise to the barb, though, apparently enjoying his news too much. "Frequency told me that Soundwave sent a transmission to Flatline today. Wants him to come to Earth."

Still reclining in my berth, I stared at the ceiling, wondering why Drudge would be telling me this. Was he trying to bore me to death now? Flatline wouldn't leave his precious experiments for Megatron, so why did Soundwave think he'd abandon his base for Megatron's third in command?

"Frequency says Soundwave caught a complete set of twins _plus _a femme. Guess Flatline won't be needing you anymore."

His words made my energon run cold. It wasn't like I was getting first-rate treatment to begin with, but if Flatline had no use for me, then I was dead – after a long, painful farewell, I was sure. Rolling my head to look at Drudge, I drawled, "Then I'll see you in the Pit."

He sneered, recognizing my words for the threat they were, and swaggered back out of the cell block.

I had no intention of letting Drudge tear up my armor any worse than it already was, especially now that I had what I needed. True, I didn't know where Earth was, but Flatline did. All I needed to do was escape, wait for Flatline to leave, and follow him. For a 'bot with my fighting skills, it'd be a piece of oil cake.

My first escape vorns ago had been an accident. Flatline's security mech Klaxon had changed the code on the holding cell and apparently Piston had missed that update. He walked into the holding block to deliver my fuel ration but couldn't get out because he didn't know the new code. So he had to call in to Klaxon and ask for it. Being the idiot that he is, he did all that over an open comm line. It took a while to hack my way into the security system, but Sides and I weren't renowned for our prank prowess for nothing, and Klaxon was a sparkling compared to Prowl or Red Alert. Having the code made it downright easy. So long story short, I made a loop of the security transmission showing me in recharge, unlocked my cell, and waltzed out of the base, taking a couple of mechs out just for fun. Being a realist, I knew what the chances were of ending up right back in this cell, so I took the time to build a nice little back door into their security program before making my escape. Each time I got recaptured, I built another back door or two just out of spite. I could leave whenever I wanted, and now that I knew that my time was up and how to get to Earth, I decided to check out of this Decepticon Pit-hole.

They were expecting me to make a break for it, of course, so I took a pretty devious route. I marched down to the common room, grabbed Klaxon to use as a shield and then made for the nearest airlock. The only hitch in the plan was that his fellow 'cons shot the glitch to pieces before I was out in the open, so I didn't get the satisfaction of killing him myself.

It wasn't until I was speeding through the welcome chill of space in my cometary form that I wondered if maybe Drudge had been lying. The mech didn't have the creativity for that kind of thing, but maybe Flatline had put him up to it. I figured I'd find out soon enough.

Four cometary forms followed me – the Idiot Brigade, as usual. I cussed to myself in the darkness for being taken in by Drudge of all mechs but vowed to make the most of my freedom for as long as it lasted. And I decided to keep an optic on the space bridge near Flatline's base, just in case my first instinct had been right.

For less than an orn they followed me and then they retreated back to the base, taking up defensive positions around the space bridge. Flatline's outpost was empty, except for those four mechs, but still I doubted. If I could be sure Flatline had gone to Earth – sure that Sideswipe would be on the other side of that bridge waiting for me – then I would have just run the blockade. On the other hand, it was the Idiot Brigade standing between me and the space bridge, so it was only a matter of time before they'd do something stupid and give me the opening I needed.

Grumbling to myself about how wretched anticipation was, I settled in to wait.


	2. Will Lennox

Will Lennox

I strode through the halls of the human half of NEST toward the Autobot hangar, making only cursory nods to personnel who saluted and said "Major Lennox."

Two years ago, General Morshower had approved the development and installation of a global early-detection and interception system for incoming Decepticons. It was our first real technological collaboration with the Autobots and, as of yesterday's test, the prototype known as BINDS (Bispecies Interception and Neutralization of Decepticons System) was up and running. The JCS didn't think it was a particularly inspiring acronym, but Optimus had declared it 'perfect' and General Morshower decided it wasn't worth fighting over. Not that I _wanted _more 'cons to come to Earth, but since it was kind of inevitable at this point, I was dying in anticipation of pitting it against those slaggers.

Further testing would have to wait, though. A storm was on its way and our friends up in India were classifying it as a category 2 typhoon. It was almost unheard of for a cyclone to wander this close to the equator, and so the island wasn't exactly well-equipped to deal with it. The winds and storm surge were going to be strong enough that all non-essential personnel were being evacuated as a precaution, and that included my wife and daughter.

In the Autobot hangar, Optimus stood by the communication platform, waiting for me to make contact with the Australian air force base that would be coordinating with for the evacuation. We had another ten minutes before it was scheduled to begin, and I climbed the stairs to join him.

"Will," he greeted me.

It had been four years since I'd first heard him speak, and it was still kind of mindboggling sometimes that he'd call me by my first name. It was even more surreal that I could do the same. "Optimus."

"You are troubled," he quietly observed.

I half-laughed. "There's a hurricane bearing down on us and the eye is supposed to pass less than a hundred and fifty miles north of here. It's the first time we've had to actually evacuate, and no amount of preparation and drills can ever prepare you for the real thing."

Optimus nodded, though he was watching me carefully. "I believe that there are some Autobots who could be considered non-essential personnel. They could accompany the other Diego Garcia civilians."

"Guardians?" I ventured. Just the idea of having Autobots on hand to watch out for Sarah and Annabelle made my blood pressure drop a little. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Skids and Mudflap."

My blood pressure spiked. "You're joking."

"Then you consider them essential personnel."

"You just want to get rid of them for a few days," I accused.

He tilted his head slightly in a gesture that would have looked like confusion to someone who hadn't known the Prime for as long as I did. To me, it looked an awful lot like a nod.

I sighed. "Can you send _anybody _else? Even just as babysitters for those glitches?"

"I believe Jolt and Arcee could be spared, as well."

That was more like it. Between the two of them, they could make the twins behave, and Arcee would watch Sarah and Annabelle like a hawk.

They all left together about forty hours before the typhoon was due to hit us. I didn't sleep well that night - I never did when I was home but Sarah wasn't - and the next morning, Ironhide helped me board up our house. When we were finished, I turned my back on it knowing that it was just a building and that my ladies were safe.

That knowledge let me focus on the mission ahead. Once the rest of the buildings "downtown" were boarded up, NEST spent a full shift sandbagging. I helped with both and slept off part of the next shift in a bedroll on my office floor. Morning brought MRE's for breakfast and another round of sandbagging. That afternoon we made a final check of the base before we officially battened down to ride out the storm. Our most important buildings should be able to take the wind as they were designed to ride out a nuke at two or three miles, but anything built in the last fifteen years wasn't as robust. That meant most of the housing and newer support buildings, including the NEST hangar. We had a fall-back command center for us humans set up in a bunker, but I thought it was bad form to shelter there while our alien guests had to weather the hurricane on their own.

When I turned in for the night, the clear sky above was full of tropical stars, and the ocean at my feet was like glass. It was deceptively peaceful, but that all began to change shortly before sunrise.

The storm surge started rolling in.

At its highest point, Diego Garcia cleared the ocean by less than ten feet and the only barrier we had was the reef shelf that circled the island. Normally that protective shelf kept the surrounding water so calm that I didn't even think about how low our elevation was, but as the winds picked up, the waves began pushing further and further up the seaward shoreline.

Ironhide was no help. He hated water of any kind, but just the thought of being exposed to salt water was enough to leave him in a corner muttering to himself and meticulously cleaning his cannons. Normally I'd send him to Boomtown to burn off some of that nervous energy, but we could all feel the weight of the storm now. Impossibly, the air was getting muggier and a wall of clouds was bearing down on us. The rain could start any minute. Sending him to the practice range was out of the question, which meant I was stuck in lockdown with a _scared _Ironhide who couldn't fire his cannons. Next to him, even _Sideswipe _looked level-headed and reasonable recharging in his alt-form a few yards away. Ratchet told 'Hide to mute it or the medic would do it for him. After losing a glaring match with the other mech, he finally stopped the incessant grumbling. Not that a silent, nervous, and cooped up Ironhide was any better. I should have sent him off-island instead of Jolt.

Even when the rain began pattering on the roof, Optimus was calm as always, but he was just a little too quiet to pull off the appearance of being unconcerned. Unlike Ironhide, though, I was sure the Prime was more worried about how he could possibly save us all if the storm surge overran the base. The island hadn't been inundated within recorded history, but with the waves sweeping closer and closer to the tarmac, it was too easy to imagine.

I'd seen sandstorms during Middle East deployments and we'd had some pretty impressive thunderstorms over the years here on Diego Garcia. They were nothing compared to this. The wind had been picking up, but a particularly strong gust literally made the walls creak. I didn't realize I'd been gritting my teeth until my jaw started hurting. Epps shook his head ominously and muttered, "Here it comes."

The wind grew to gale-force, howling over the hangar and making the beams groan under the pressure. We all, human and Autobot, stood unspeaking for a long time, listening to the storm. As the minutes ticked slowly by, I grew increasingly confident that the hangar would survive the wind. No need to call retreat, at least, not yet. I felt like I should be doing something then, setting a calm and collected example for the men and women under my command, and so I climbed up to Ops where they were using radar to track the storm. "Report," I softly said.

"The eye is…"

Sideswipe roared out of his altform, chittering something in Cybertronian and we all turned to stare. Optimus tried to talk with him, but the frontliner skated to the hangar door and began frantically punching it.

"Stand down!" I barked but he unsheathed a blade and began hacking at the metal in his way. Had the storm made Sideswipe lose it? He was vain but didn't have a phobia about saltwater the way 'Hide did. Ironhide and Optimus closed in on him, and I knew from experience that they'd pin him if necessary until he calmed down.

"Sir! BINDS just squawked," the sergeant blurted out and I whirled to look at his screen. Shrieking metal made me reflexively turn back to Sideswipe to see the abused part of the hangar door give way. Optimus and Ironhide ignored the silver mech as he burst out into the storm.

"What the _hell_just happened!" I demanded over the roar of the wind that now blew through the hole in the door. "And why didn't you stop him?"

"Jamming frequency," Ironhide rumbled.

"Decepticon," Ratchet clarified.

I instantly forgot Sideswipe and turned back to Ops. "What's going on with BINDS?"

"It's offline."

"Even our personal comms are offline," Optimus added. "Such technology was used in Decepticon detention camps. It interferes with all wireless electromagnetic communications."

Epps swore under his breath.

"You said it squawked," I demanded of the ops sergeant.

He quickly skimmed the report. "Five inbound transitional forms."

"ETA?"

"Unknown. We picked them up just before BINDS went down. We weren't able to observe them long enough to determine a speed."

"Vector?"

The sergeant skimmed a little further down the screen. "Unknown. They were physically located above the South Pacific when we picked them up." Five Decepticons were coming in fast and in our neighborhood, cutting communications as they went.

"Mobilize!" I ordered, bolting for the stairs that led down from Ops. I caught sight of the savaged door and realized Sideswipe already had.

Alarms were wailing and all around me NEST humans started gearing up. Grabbing a sabot launcher for myself, I looked up at Optimus and nodded to the gaping hole. "What did Sideswipe say?"

"Uncertain."

"What do you mean, 'uncertain?' Wasn't he talking in Cybertronian?"

"He was speaking in a…very simplified dialect," Ratchet said.

"What. Did. He. Say."

"Translation is difficult," Optimus finally answered. "It is a very low-level language, the type used by sparklings. He was making reference to someone being nearby."

"He was babbling like a baby? _Sideswipe_?" My day just descended another level deeper into the Pit.

"He and his brother were held in a prison camp with technology similar to what the Decepticons are using now. I believe his unusual reaction was triggered by it."

Great. He was running amok and we had incoming Decepticons. We couldn't even call him back because their comm systems were down. There was no way to track the Decepticons' trajectory because the damn hurricane kept us from even looking up at the sky to see if they were headed our way. I couldn't do anything about the 'cons, really, but if we were quick we might be able to get Sideswipe's head screwed on straight again (or at least get him tranqued so he didn't attack us along with the 'cons during some kind of PTSD flashback).

"We follow him," I ordered, and the 'bots began to transform. "Get him under control or at least sane enough that we can point him at the Decepticons when they land." We were already outnumbered four to five _before _Sideswipe lost it. Optimus probably counted for two, but I didn't like the odds of three against five, not when we had no idea who was inbound and we humans would be pretty useless while grounded by the fragging hurricane and with our communications taken down, too.

Ironhide popped open his driver' side door for me, revving his engine impatiently until the hangar door was open enough for us to slip through. Optimus tore out into the night with Ironhide driving hard on his bumper and Ratchet bringing up the rear.

I felt the wind batter Ironhide's frame, making even the solid mech shudder. Or maybe it was his fear of salt water. The rain was pouring in a torrent down the windshield, obscuring the view. Of course, in the gloom of the storm there wasn't much to see besides wind-whipped trees.

I caught myself gritting my teeth again and forced myself to act instead of just react. "What's the range on that jamming signal?

"Depends on where and how it's set up," Ironhide answered. "Could be a couple hundred miles. Could be the whole planet."

"Any idea who might be behind it?"

"No."

I grimaced at the finality behind the word. Giving up there, I anxiously looked out the driver's side window at the sky, watching for the first sign of trouble.

Another particularly strong gust of wind rattled us, and Optimus' trailer swung wide under the force of it. 'Hide swerved hard, hydroplaned in a half-donut, and then corrected to pull out ahead of his leader. Twisting out of bracing myself, I glanced back through Ironhide's rear window. All I could tell through the downpour was that Optimus' headlights were level, so he hadn't jackknifed. "Is he okay?"

"He is Optimus," Ironhide curtly replied.

"Yeah," I agreed, realizing that 'Hide had no way of knowing since both their comms were down. But it would take more than some wind to take out the Prime, at least as long as his feet were still planted on the ground. The flight tech would be worthless, though the reinforced armor and additional firepower would be as useful as ever.

The road swung in an S-curve ahead of us and I caught sight of Sideswipe's headlights in the gloom. "We're gaining on him?"

"His alt is even worse in this weather than Optimus' is," 'Hide explained. "The wind is throwing him all around. Can't you see it?"

And as if to prove his point, Sideswipe's headlights flashed over us as he did a complete 360 on the swamped road. We were close enough then that I could see his silhouette punch the ground as he transformed up out of his alt and into to his skates. He only made it a few yards before the wind toppled him. When he rose to his feet again, they were the typical Cybertronian stabilizers and he took off down the road in a pitched sprint – or at least as close to it as a 1-ton metal frame could get.

"What is going through his processors?" I muttered.

"Thousands of years of hate. And Will – loosen up on the steering wheel."

I let go of it like it burned me.

A streak of light sliced through the wind and rain – an inbound form – and plunged below the horizon ahead of us.

"How far?"

"Don't know."

Four more Cybertronians roared down through the storm. Fall back and join the others or press on to support Sideswipe? Falling back made more tactical sense, but Ironhide wouldn't abandon 'Sides. I grimly double-checked my weapon.

The silver mech rounded the southern tip of the island, and the trees blocked our view of him. Ironhide started muttering in Cybertronian, but I recognized swearing even if it was in an alien language.

"Hang on," he ordered as we followed Sideswipe around the curve. Then his front end dropped and we swung around the pivot point. Metal screeched against blacktop and I caught sight of 'Hide digging his fingers into the road before he leaped back into his full alt and roared ahead.

Sideswipe had dropped back into his alt-form again. The wind was at our backs now, so we weren't getting thrown around as much. Visibility was better, too. Another pair of headlights appeared further up the beach, followed by another and another…five Decepticons heading straight at us. Impossibly, Sideswipe went even faster.

Ironhide, however, slowed down.

Was he giving up on Sides? "He's going to get himself killed. Even in berserker mode, that's five against one."

'Hide lunged forward again, but it was with a roar of laughter – a manic, fierce laughter like I'd never heard from him before. Were they both cracked?

One Decepticon was racing far ahead of the others on a collision course with Sideswipe. They were playing chicken, I thought, and at the last second, the 'con swung around with a flash of gold in Sides' headlights. They both transformed, but when Sideswipe brandished his blades, he surprised me by tossing one of them to the gold mech. He caught it and they both wheeled toward the other Decepticons. But for the color, the mechs in front of me were almost identical - height, breadth, helm, frame-type, general build. Then the two of them dropped into their alts and were tearing down the beach side by side. The mechs were allies, I realized, not enemies. With such similar frames, they might even be kin. And that meant this was another Autobot.

In the headlights of Sideswipe and the gold 'bot, the Decepticon who'd been behind the gold mech transformed. The two Autobots leaped out of their alts and, with a synchronization I'd only ever seen in Arcee's components, decapitated and gutted the spark of the Decepticon. They were back on their wheels before the dead mech hit the ground and were racing toward the knot of three 'con's further down the inundated beach.

"Holy slag."

Ironhide chuckled again.

"No, seriously. How the _hell _did they just do that?"

His whole frame rocked as two missiles streaked passed us, and I realized he'd fired them. The Decepticons were scattered by the explosion, falling into the roiling waves. I absently thought that the salt in their damaged parts probably hurt like the Pit.

"Thousands of years of hate," Ironhide answered, still driving hard, "and a brother bond."

Brother bond… "Sunstreaker. Are they always that…effective?"

"Almost," 'Hide answered, "If these are the mechs who guarded Sunstreaker, though, he's probably figured out hundreds of ways to kill each of them."

One 'con was slower to rise than the others, and Sunstreaker jabbed his blade into the back of the wounded mech's neck, paralyzing him. Another Decepticon was shooting at Sideswipe, but the Autobot didn't even flinch, just pressed on until he was within range to slice off the other mech's rifle-arm. The third 'con dropped into his alt-form to retreat, but Sunstreaker lunged after him. I watched intently to see what this new 'bot would do, since he'd left his sword behind. The Decepticon didn't get far before Sunstreaker leaped out of alt-form to land on the Decepticon's roof, and then I saw pieces of armor being tossed aside in the furious wind. Sunstreaker was literally tearing the 'con apart with his bare hands.

I couldn't see how exactly Sunstreaker brought his mech down – the gale was still raging – but I did see the blue glow of an exposed spark. To my surprise, Sunstreaker didn't kill his 'con but instead turned and staggered toward us, silhouetted by the wavering spark-light.

In the meantime, Sideswipe had cut off the arms and the legs of his 'con and was currently pulling circuitry from a gash in the downed mech's chassis. It sparked and crackled in the sheeting rain. Ironhide drifted to a stop in front of the silver 'bot.

I moved to open the cab door but stopped when Optimus' voice came over Ironhide's comm. "Stand down, Sideswipe." Now that the 'cons were taken out, communications were back up. The radio on my hip hissed to life, and headlights from human-built trucks lit up the back window.

"Don't," Ironhide interrupted him.

"This is not our way," Optimus firmly declared.

"Maybe not, but it _is _theirs," Ratchet cut in. "They're running on base code."

"_You _would see a mech tortured?" the Prime snapped at him. The ground shook as he strode up, bare energon blades steaming and sizzling in the storm.

"Our kill," Sideswipe snarled over the public comm. His Decepticon started convulsing.

"Then kill him," Optimus ordered. "Or I will."

Sideswipe defiantly turned his back to Optimus and grabbed at the Decepticon's face, prying the plates off. "Just following the example of our Prime," he growled.

Three heartbeats later, Optimus hung his head and sheathed his swords.

Sunstreaker fell to his knees beside the last 'con and rolled him over. Without even looking our way, the Autobot smashed his fist into his enemy's face – blow after blow after blow until the oozing helm was literally flattened.

Stunned, I looked back up the beach to the 'con who had tried to run, but the telltale blue light of his spark was gone. Exposed to the elements, the mech had drowned in his own spark-chamber.

Granted, these were mechs so it wasn't as disturbing for me to watch the gore as it was for Optimus, but the sheer brutality of it was numbing. I'd thought Sideswipe was a cold-sparked killer, but seeing him and his brother now, I realized I'd only known the tamer side of him.

Mud-spattered and hands dripping in seawater and mechanical fluids, the newcomer climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Sunstreaker reporting for duty, sir."

He collapsed, then, and Sideswipe caught him, dropping his swords in the process. Ironhide swore, but Sideswipe was already hoofing it back toward the hangar with Sunstreaker in his arms. Ratchet knelt briefly beside the 'cons, checking for signs of life before driving toward the mech whose spark had been exposed. A moment later, he returned, splashing forward in his alt-mode to race after the twins.

"Step out for a minute, Will," Ironhide instructed.

Knowing I'd be drenched when I climbed back into a cab, I told him, "I'll ride home with the others."

He made a noncommittal grunt that was his way of saying "thanks" without actually acknowledging how creeped out he'd be having mud and salt water actually _inside _him. As I retreated to the nearest human transport, Ironhide stooped in the storm and retrieved Sideswipe's swords.

…

Ratchet found the twins in the Autobot barracks with Sideswipe hooked into his brother's systems, giving him a transfusion of his own energon. Even though they were unconscious, the medic cussed them both in a steady stream for a good half-hour with Optimus and Ironhide looking on, and I left them to deal with it all in private.

With communications back up, we did a full shakedown of BINDS and made contact with the evacuees. The ships were following behind the storm and would dock before dawn. The Autobots with them were all but tripping over each other in eager anticipation of seeing another one of their own arrive on Earth, even if it was Sideswipe's twin. Or maybe _because _it was Sideswipe's twin. Another bond, another reason to hope.

Three hours later, the storm had let up enough that we sent out a clean-up crew to salvage from the dead 'cons everything the cyclone hadn't carried off.

Optimus and Ironhide still hadn't left the barracks, so I went to check on them. They joined me in the hallway, no doubt picking me up on their sensors.

Nodding toward the barracks, I asked, "What are we dealing with here? Physically? Psychologically? He's obviously been through hell and back."

Ironhide grunted. "It's a miracle he survived planetfall. His armor has been shredded, and especially landing in the ocean, rust will be a danger."

I gave him a curious look, and Optimus explained, "To us, rust is like bacteria is to humans. It's usually harmless or requires minimal treatment, unless one is weakened. No doubt he was low on energon, which lowers his resistance to rust."

"It's a good thing we have 'con frames to scavenge," Ironhide added. "It's going to take a lot to patch that youngling back together."

"And psychologically?" We all knew Sideswipe had been in rough shape when he arrived on Earth, and I couldn't imagine Sunstreaker being any better off.

"Unknown." Reluctantly Optimus admitted, "He is the less amiable of the two."

I mentally choked on that statement.

Ironhide snorted. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Will. Sideswipe will be saner now. Imagine if Annabelle had been held as a POW for a couple of years and you got her back."

It made my stomach lurch to even think about her as _anybody's _captive, much less a hostile, but I got a clearer sense of what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would be going through. While neither of them were as vulnerable as Annabelle, they were twins, two parts of a whole. Their separation went beyond personal, and it would take them a good long time to be fully stable again - if ever.

"Discipline has historically been a problem," Optimus continued, "but with how injured he is, I doubt Sunstreaker will be up to trouble for a while."

I looked at him warily. "'A while' in human terms or in Cybertronian?"

Ironhide was the one who answered, though. "With these two? Human."

Optimus frowned. "Sunstreaker should not be exposed to humans at all. There is a strong possibility he will react negatively to the presence of an alien and might even see humans as a threat."

"If he's going to remain on Earth, he needs to meet the natives sooner or later," I pointed out.

"Not for the foreseeable future," Optimus firmly replied.

"What about Sideswipe? How long will he be on medical leave?"

"He should be up to full combat readiness again soon, most likely less than a week."

I turned that over in my mind. The way they worked so seamlessly was telling. Until I saw those two in action, I hadn't realized just how tightly twins were bound, and I found myself having faith in that bond. "Sideswipe is tolerant of most humans," I pointed out, "if not actually friends with a few. Since Sideswipe knows who I am, Sunstreaker will to. Besides, there's Ratchet's repair crew that he'll be exposed to while he's recovering."

Optimus straightened in alarm. "No human may enter the barracks, not even Ratchet's team."

"Does that apply to Iron Will, too?" I demanded.

"So long as he is human, yes," Optimus answered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

The Prime was being stubborn, but my gut instinct was to go in. The sooner Sunstreaker realized that the billions of organic beings that surrounded him _weren't _a threat, the sooner he would feel safe here. And until _Sunstreaker _felt safe, he was a liability, not an asset. Remembering the twins' ruthless efficiency, I knew that they would bothbe liabilities, and very dangerous ones at that.

I tried a different approach. Even though I knew what he'd probably say, I asked, "What's his status politically, then? Is he a neutral now or is he still one of yours?"

"He is an Autobot, and I claim him as one of my own," Optimus regally declared.

"If he's one of yours, he's one of mine," I reminded him. "I'm not going to march in there and start giving him orders, but I want to see him. And more importantly, I want him to see _me_." Before he could add another protest, I offered, "I'll wear my Autobot uniform."

That wasn't the official term for it, of course, but I knew both Optimus and Ironhide would understand what I meant. They'd all seen me in full battle gear before, and Ratchet had commented once that I looked so much more natural, like a Cybertronian, when I was wearing it. The night vision visor in particular reminded them of another mech, a small silver one who also wore a visor and whose death left a gaping hole in their team.

"I cannot guarantee your safety," Optimus said, clearly unhappy.

"I can," Ironhide grunted. "I'll go in ahead of you, Will, and assess the situation. If it's safe, I'll comm you."

After a moment's hesitation, Optimus nodded his head in assent.

With grim anticipation, I crossed back into the human side of NEST to gear up.


	3. Sideswipe

Author's Note: Credit for this entire chapter goes to IronRaven, who has been the Botosphere's Weapons Specialist and the voice of Sideswipe for a while now. :) He wrote this at my request since this story wouldn't be complete without Sideswipe's perspective but the twin and my muse are not on speaking terms. This chapter makes reference to the fic "Botosphere: You Are Not Forgotten" on his profile if you want to read more. :)

* * *

Sideswipe

It was just a simple mission, my turn in the guard rotation. I listened to the fury of the wind, watching the whip of the rain. Water is such a filthy compound, and it is so common here, but the darkness of the clouds and the screaming gusts, the way the drops lashed against our hanger with the force of a more noble fluid, it reminded me of home. Cybertron could have storms with lightning in a thousand colors and beating mercury and burning sand, winds so strong even a powerhouse like Optimus had to retreat to shelter before them.

My memories are the most painful where there is joy in them. I can remember a storm. My brother and I, sitting in the observation bay of our first apartment. It was cheap, near the star port, but the windows were amazing, and it was ours. Watching the storm roll in, the entire building swayed minutely as steely clouds chased each other to the horizon, balls of lightning bounding and bouncing down the streets. There was a humming moan from the guy wires of the house aerial, quicksilver branching and twisting like coppervine across the clearsteel of the windows. It was beautiful.

At first I thought it was the memory of him. I didn't believe it. I almost didn't want to believe. But then... I was whole. For the first time in vorns. My processors raced, running diagnostics- I'd revive from recharging, feeling this way, like he was there with us, and already know it to be a lie. But it wasn't. It wasn't a lie. It was real.

And they were coming. They were chasing him. I could tell because the communications net went down before my diagnostics were done. The jamming, it roared in my reception organs, deafening loud and painfully strong, the safeties kicking in before the damage was permanent. But I could feel him. He could feel me. Vectoring, ranging through the bond.

"Brother.. Brother... coming... coming.. home... home! Prey follows! No chase - OURS!"

If I was human, I'd have wept, but we are a stronger race. I could feel his pain and hunger, streaming from him like dust and gas from a comet. He was unarmed, he'd barely escaped.

I was sending him to the beach. It was empty, he wouldn't hit anything. And we needed space, a place where we could have a taste of vengeance. I bolted through the door, barely aware it was there. My spark was blazing, every sensor and motor and myomer in my body taunt, exulting. The wind grabbed at me, tried to stop me - I roared back at it, challenging any to restrain me. They dared not, not the Primes, not Primus himself. This planet, this universe, none would bar me from this.

But all could watch. All should watch, and remember, for there would be no encore.

He sent me the names of our enemies. He'd watched them, analyzed them. Killed them a thousand times in his mind.

I saw him as he broke the clouds, a sprinting solar flare against the lumbering, mountainous shapes. We were one. I-we-me-us. He hit the water and made it hiss in fear from his superheated form, sheathing him in steam as he exploded from the surf. The salt burned at damaged circuits, the cracked lens of an optic flaring warnings of damage and imminent failure. But there would be enough time. I threw a blade to him, the cybertronium scything through the air at a rate of spin perfectly measured to smack into his palm, the inertia twisting him to face our foes. The rain and waves broke for us, the wind caressed as he selected his prey and wished me good game with Drudge. Unstoppable, we were a dance of bodies and blades, faster and more dangerous than even most combiners. It had been so long, but the bond was eternal.

The jamming died as we punished those who separated us. Experiment on us they had dared. We are not scientists, tinkerers. We are artists, and they were our soft, pliable, moldable medium. I could feel the pain of the Prime, the plea that we show quick mercy. How dare he? How dare you Optimus, you who have felt your clan die one by one until only a few remain and those are severed from you. You who are forced to look at those who our human allies would have called your brothers-in-law as if they were strangers. You can judge me for having my bond restored, whole and unshattered? Is it your jealousy at us being connected? Or jealousy at knowing that when ours is truly broken with a snuffed out spark, then other will not suffer. Is it a plea for your own oblivion, our leader?

It was rebellion that made me do it. To peel the face of my last foe in such a way. The way a Prime would kill a Prime. I exulted in how the pins tore and bolts popped, the crack of electrons and the the crunch of plates, the wide-opticked panic and the entire body going stiff. An insult to my clan is no less than one to yours, Prime. Dare you judge us?

And I immediately regretted it. It is our right to kill this one. This one who had pulled the fingerplates from my brother's hands and laughed. This one who had splashed him with hydrocarbon tar and lit it on fire. This Decepticon deserved this and more. I regretted that I could only kill him one time. I had judged and shamed our Prime, and seeing it in his optics, felt the blaze of the my rage lessen.

My brother stood with me for the first time in ages. Battered, injured, hungry, unprepared for the cold wetness of this world, for the light and the gravity. But he was standing, he lived, he existed. Barely. I could feel him starting to pass into stasis before he did, I caught him before he hit the waves.

I left our blades in the brine. He will always be more important. I lifted my brother in my arms, feeling the energon leaving him. I didn't bother to change my form as I ran. Ran, ran, ran like I hadn't since we saw those two shuttles, those never to be sufficiently cursed shuttles that separated us. I didn't care what I stepped on, what I kicked over.

The hangar door opened before us - I don't know if I sent the signal or someone else or if there was a human still there. It wouldn't have mattered, I would have gone through it. I took a step toward the medical bay, and stopped.

He could not waken there. Flatline was a medic. The smells of hot metal and circuits, coolants and solvents, combined with the tools... No. My brother would panic. I feared I would lose him if it was where he woke.

Ratchet could deal with it. They could all deal with it. The safest place in the hangar was the recharging room. My berth, the bunk in the corner.

Memories plucked at my mind, pushing through the bond. He had to know. This was the safe bunk. We were safe here, it was okay to recharge. None could get behind him. That is why I'd taken it. I'd been willing to fight Jolt for it- he'd already claimed it. I argued with him, shoved him, he swung, I dodged, and the blades and whips came out. Ratchet and Ironhide pulled us apart. Jolt is no bigger than I am, and he thrashed and kicked as our medic held him with his feet off the ground. I behaved no better as the black arms of Ironhide hoisted me.

Optimus hadn't demanded answers. He didn't press his mind at mine, he didn't even think query to me. He looked into my optics, and said it was my bunk. He didn't even command Jolt or I to apologize to each other.

When I first tried to recharge, I tried to fight it. I didn't want to slip into the unconscious state. Memories roamed there, grabbing me, pulling me under, holding me down and forcing me to see and smell and feel my past, my fears, my doubts. When I came out recharge, I saw Jolt, sitting there, watching me. I snarled at him, thought hate and rage and challenge at him for seeing me recharging on my side. No mech recharged like that, it wasn't natural. It was shameful.

And Jolt apologized for the day before.

Ratchet showed me his memories of my recharging, my memories making me twitch in recharge, vocal processor glitching. The staticy moans, the frequency bounding sobs, barely understood words. My fists clenching on air, feet kicking. Crying out for my brother, or pleading for mercy for us, for the pain to stop. Backed against the wall, into a corner.

They knew. They'd know, of course they'd know. They'd know that Sideswipe is a coward afraid to recharge, that Sides is an unstable malfunction, glitched beyond safety. Yeah, I'd needed that bunk so no one could get behind me. He gave me pity and tried to share understanding. So did the Prime.

I sent these memories and more to my brother, between bouts of pleading with him to stay with me and threats against Primus if he took my brother from me, as I laid him on my bunk. My fingers found the latches, bent and corroded. I pulled, breaking the latches and my own Spark, to bare his. I released the plates on my chest, my fingers finding the right tubing in my energon circulation system. I pulled hard, my thumb over the end, even the lost energon dripping into his chest. Sensors screamed in pain as I manually overrode his, even though in medical stasis he couldn't feel it as I patched us together. Joining us physically.

My Spark bobbled in counterpart to the surge of his as energon rushed into his body, and mine took his, the energon he'd been hoarding and reusing for so long it was nearly toxic. My knees buckled and I fell to them. It took all my will to turn, to sit beside my bunk facing the door as I slipped into stasis.

After time unknowable, I could feel him, out of stasis and alive but not completely out of recharge, one spark, one body. I tried to share his pain, but he wouldn't let me. I sent reassurance and faith and hope and completeness across the bond. He tried to hide shame and fear and savaged pride. I shared with him the memories of my own. Of how I was convinced they were afraid of me. When they started to load their weapons before recharging, I thought it was because they believed me unsafe, as dangerous as a 'Con. Even Ironhide - once a mech we admired and cheered for in the arena who had become our mentor, our friend - he armed himself to recharge with me in the room. And the humans were forbidden from our quarters. What did they think I'd do to them? Especially the stupid twins - they postured and posed and talked each other into false bravery, making sure I could see. They were putting on a show for my benefit, I was to be scared of them because they were scared of me, they doubted me. No, they had no doubt, not a doubt that sooner or later I'd kill them as they recharged. They thought I was so glitched that I didn't know friend from foe.

The others tried to talk to me, to tell me I'd done nothing wrong, but they never all turned their back to me. It haunted me. I was never so alone, and it got worse every time they forgave me, they pitied me, they shared mercy and caring and sorrow with me.

On Cybertron, a tiny number of criminals were found to be so intractable that they received therapeutic reprogramming by order of the magistrates. Law and tradition required the same words to the mech who would soon not be himself any more: "We find you guilty of these actions and without a sense of guilt of your own. We sentence you to personality modification and requisite physical alteration. But we forgive you, may Primus have mercy on all our Sparks." The pity of my fellow Autobots on Earth felt no different. I was the walking damned, broken beyond repair.

Then Iron Will confronted me. I'd injured him. It had been my foot that started the damage, I kicked Skids out of my way so I could shoot down a 'Con. So great was my thirst for energon. And I couldn't lie - I wanted to hit Skids and Mudflap. They had each other, they were whole; they were a one and I was a half. They could anger me so fast, it just took a few moments and I'd make sure that no one else could see and I'd hit one of them. And they never said a thing to anyone. I knew I was wrong. That it wasn't a warrior's way, that I was glitching. I was a danger to everyone around me. And this tiny, weak, crushable human was forgiving me. But he also shared understanding, amity.

Slowly my brother shared memories, but he would not open our bond. He spoke of pain. Pain. Aloneness and more pain. Fear. My Spark, once soaring, now dived again. I ached. I was guilty of leaving him. I'd been safe, I should have been looking for my brother. But we were oath-sworn in the oldest of ways, pledging energon and blade to the Autobots. To vengeance. I'd been on the edge of the war, maybe the only front left that mattered was on this frontier world where the Prime chose to make his last stand. Where a Prime was found. And all the while my brother was tormented and tortured.

I was only partially aware of Ratchet arriving, talking with Ironhide. The black mech laid our swords on what would be my bunk. I knew this without asking Jolt. I knew he knew this as well. Normally I would have pummeled anyone for touching my swords, my art, the faces of all those who were lost in the eons of conflict. They bore no salt on them, but he had water on his plates. A part of my processor knew he must have rinsed them and dried them. Ironhide with his loathing of rust, of the vanity of appearance as great as my own that he hid behind brusqueness. He'd examine himself in a mirror after missions, fearing corrosion. I didn't. When I looked in them, I had to look away.

I turned on my knees, looking at my brother. He had slagged spots where he'd been burned, pitted where acid had been used. Scratches like he'd been dragged, others like he'd been chewed on. Exposed struts were cracked, bent. Corrosion dotted his skin, making his finish patchy and ill looking. Ratchet leaning over of the connections that bound us together, I took my brother's hand, my cheekplate against a knee with a ragged weld.

Ratchet muttered that I should have gone to the medical bay. I didn't share my logic path with him - perhaps some day. The healer's profanity came in many forms, including a thundering invocation of Unicron. It would take days of work just to stabilize us- he called me many kinds of fool for performing club-servoed surgery on myself like this, and wished us both a lovely case of cosmic rust, then he stood.

I could strain my audio sensors to hear him as he whispered to Ironhide, "I can't even move them now without breaking the energon flow..." Ratchet shook his head, glancing at us. "Sunny's spark should have been extinguished. From what I could detect, his golden aft must have hit with almost no energon left. I don't even dare to operate again until he's got enough energon in him to keep him stable while I work. Sideswipe wasn't going to be leaving his side anyway, and he has enough in his frame to spare a little, but I can't let Sunny drain Sides' own supply for long. Morning at the latest. Prime's meditating now, trying to figure out how soon he can draw more energon from the Matrix. In the meantime, though, he has approved me tapping our emergency reserves, and calling for donors."

I sent it through the bond. My brother stirred, listened.

I didn't want him to suffer at our allies as I had. In time I understood that they loaded their weapons not against me, but to stand with me. They didn't fear me, they feared for me. Some because they did care for us, some because there were so few of us left that they couldn't not care. It took long for the fact of logic to become truth of Spark. There weren't enough of us left, not enough Cybertronians, and of those of us who remained, most stood with hands raised against us.

We listened to Ironhide pledge his energon to us, his lifecurrent. There was the brushes of thought from the others across the communications network. Arcee volunteering too and demanding to know why there were three units of energon in the medical bay that hadn't been five days ago. Optimus' gentle rebuke to Ratchet for draining his own energon like that. The other twins, shouting audibly from the hanger, asking where to stick the pump, and Jolt offering to show them with almost human humor.

If I'd been human, I'd have wept at my past lack of faith in them and for relief that my brother was with us. But we are of a stiffer mettle. I reshared the traffic, the thought-feelings, the faith and the resolve with him across the bond. Even if he wasn't listening, I would show him that we are not alone. He will not expire.

Ironhide sat on his bunk, unmoving until Iron Will entered the recharging barracks. He clanked a little when he walked, the armor and equipment harness giving him a reassuring and natural mix of curve and rigid angle. He was fully armed, a grenade launcher slung while he carried one of the humans' belt fed weapons in his hands. The night vision device mounted to his helmet was lifted; down, they looked like proper optics, but the armoured lenses he wore over his biological optics mimicked a visor-type optic under the shadowing browridge of his helmet. Even the joints of his gloves were hardened, like ours. Ironhide leaned down to give him a hand up. They sat facing the door.

They were guarding us.

My brother thought query to me, about this strangest of Autobots. I explained, and passed on his bravery, his trust, the elemental fire-given-form of his femme, the P.O.W. image that Iron Will had gifted to me. The alien image that I wore for my brother, and the brand Iron Will wore with us. The knowledge that Will was not alone in his allegiance. The human Prime that defied belief and his bond with the true Prime we'd chosen long ago. The knowledge that these weak, short lived, squishy little biologicals were part of our team now, becoming part of us. That there was hope. That this could be a new home. And that someday we would have no more enemies to kill, and we could be artists again. That we could be as we were when we were young.

And maybe we could be innocent again.

Then my brother opened the bond completely. I fell into him, drawing him to me, merging our existences completely.

...

Silver and gold, we met in our shared existence. We held each other's shoulders, looking into the familiar face before us. The one we had started to forget. The one we shared.

Reflected in my twin's mind, I saw the plates of my face were long and drawn and tarnished in this dreamspace. "I'm sorry, Sunny. I thought you were right behind us. I never should have left you."

Sunstreaker frowned. "You didn't leave me. I stayed behind to give you time to escape."

But there was no lying here, as deep as we were in the bond. Though he tried to hide it from me, I saw and knew. For the first few planetary rotations, that hadn't been true, Sunny had been angry with me. But there was nothing that my shuttle could have done - the second one had a bad contragravity generator. They'd been a quarter of the way to breaking atmo when it failed. With a local gravity nearly

twenty percent higher than Cybertron's, it had still taken a long time to find that plate and strut breaking crunch at the surface of the planet. It hadn't been planned, but it was no one's fault. Sunny had been the only survivor, and only then because he was one of Flatline's precious experiments and received medical treatment. Still, he told the lie that he would tell everyone else like a shield to protect me. "It went according to plan; you aren't as tough as me, had to let my little brother escape."

The forced bravado in one set of optics looked into the aching sadness of the other, and we both started to laugh, a sound of joy rather than humor. We were one again, we were whole, even if we had scars of body and spark that we would never be able to hide from each other. From the rest of the universe, absolutely. But never from each other.

Around us, the nearly forgotten home of our sparklinghood, the workshop studio of our parent-creator flickered. The resolution was poor, it was painful place for us to remember. Home. Peace. Being loved. Not having to battle to survive. Where we could paint and sculpt and tailor sensations and weave dreams that were pure. It had all been destroyed; we could never go home. Our kin and friends lost forever alongside so many others.

There was a clang as a palm lightly smacked a face, breaking the silence like hammer on anvil. "You fragger! Don't do that again! I was afraid... I was... you were... alone." That last word was a nearly spark-broken sob.

We pulled each other tight, locking joints as we both held our twin. "I didn't think you'd made it either. Afthatch! You aren't leaving my sight again. I can't do it again."


End file.
